


Like Flying

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>rare pairing comm prompt: First Aid/Silverbolt: I'll make you fly</p>
    </blockquote>





	Like Flying

**Author's Note:**

> rare pairing comm prompt: First Aid/Silverbolt: I'll make you fly

There is no feeling quite like flying. The rush of atmosphere against plating, that leaves sensors tingling, each one attuned to every scrap of information. A constant flow of data with which to make the smallest of corrections.

Tilting upwards, engines roar harder, faster, _more_. Fighting gravity as it seeks to claim another prize. Atmosphere thins, easier to move but the data flow slows, nothing to push against, nothing to force corrections. Flying in space is different. Dodging asteroids and debris isn't true flying. One wing dips, what little air there is at this altitude lost, gravity finally staking its claim. Falling is just another part of flying, one must simply know when to take control.

But until then it is freedom, the lack of control going straight to the spark, building charge that has no way to dissipate. And then there is the heat, a dull burn in deeper systems as the outer armour flares, friction turning the sensor data into an overload of information.

Every moment another bit of ecstasy, pleasure and pain and need. Warnings scream for attention, passing across the HUD in a dizzying array of colours, only to be dismissed. If you fall just a little more, just a few more seconds, it might be enough.

Enough to burn out the charge, to get it high enough that the very atmosphere surrounding will accept some of the excess. The only danger is...

The ground is never far away.

Yet it doesn't feel like I hit the ground. No damage, no mangled frame, nothing but a throbbing in my spark, the gently settling pulse and the faint tingle of dissipating charge in my circuits.

“Back with us again?” The voice is far to close and I cycle my optics online, pushing them up the queue of systems in my processor that still need checking. “You jets burn through stuff so quickly.” 

My optics snap online and I am already lunging for the source of the voice only to be stopped short, wrists firmly attached to the berth I am resting on.

“Now now. Easy.” First Aid smirks as he pets one restrained arm, his other hand holding a fuel injector. “That last one seemed to be a good mix. But I think this one will be even better.” His hand caresses the armour above my spark, his visor brightening as I snarl at him.

“The rest of Superion won't let you get away with this.” They don't care about me, personally, that I know, but they do care about themselves, and since we are _all_ gestalt...

First Aid lowers his mask as he leans down, a smirk on his faceplates, “Are you really going to tell them that you couldn't defend yourself against one single medic? How embarrassing.”

I can feel my hands close into fists, claws creating gouges in my own plating. No. I can't tell them that. Give them even more reason to try and usurp my leadership.

“Thought you'd see it my way.” I can feel the fuel injector pierce an energon line, a rush of liquid, cold as it mixes with my energon flow, circulating, heading for my processor, my spark, taking away my worries.

In fact, it's like flying.


End file.
